trans_9 | Late Night Train to Maudlin City, Now Boarding [open]

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Late Night Train to Maudlin City, Now Boarding [open]

The feeling that he wouldn't be out of Medbay for long was a hard feeling to squash, but he wanted to stay away as long as he could. He hated doctors. That was what he was getting closer to, though, his breakout from Cadmus and the half-remembered times right before it when he'd been poked and prodded and dressed up in a Superman uniform. He felt his life dissolving away like sand through his fingertips. For a while, he tried to ignore it, striking out on his own and trying to have fun. He had a good fly through the city, surfed in the Sensoriums, made the flirty eyes at any girl he happened to pass by in the hallways. He was the Kid. He was young and carefree, right? Not a worry in the world.

It was during one of those lulls where a good portion of the ship's crew was asleep that he left his room. Good ship Stacy's version of Letterman time. (Scratch that: more like Conan-time). He was wearing the sweatpants Rory gave him and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and not much else.

Taking a seat floating in the air there, he looked outside. The view outside the viewing window really was beautiful. It was dazzling. Distracting.

"Way to go, Superboy! Staring pensively out the viewing window. You're not being a walking cliche at all."

Only angsty people stared pensively out the viewing window. Seriously. He was too cool for pensive viewing window staring. Cliche or not, though, he needed it. Sometimes you needed that perspective. That's what he figured. He needed to see...exactly how small he was compared to the rest of the universe. A universe that'd go on without him, if he shrank away into nothing--

Yeah, okay, maybe this wasn't actually helping him feel some cosmic one-ness that took away his growing fear.

"Now entering Maudlin City. Population: You."

Talking to himself like he was the main character in a comic book or a TV show or something like that was a habit that'd taken him years to break himself out of and thus a habit he'd reverted back to, but hey, who didn't like to pretend sometimes that their life had the kind of stories people would want to read about?

The question was: with this, with something he couldn't fight with his fists, would he still have a story for much longer?

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"It might skip, but if it is contagious, I'd rather not risk an outbreak on the ship when we've already got our hands full of trouble. Yeah? I promise it won't be for long." He kept his hand on Conner's shoulder, giving Robin a strange look over his shoulder.

Ah. They hadn't met yet, not for real. "He's a friend, Conner. You remember you're losing time? It'll come back once we fix it."

Tim's posture stiffened at Conner's change in demeanour towards him. So it'd gone back to that, then? Their friendship had been built before coming onto the ship, of course, and a lot of it was kind of situational. Even though they had acted as friends on the ship, as well... it made sense that the loss of memories would degrade some of that. That he'd lose him-- not entirely, not the way he'd been most worried about. Conner was still here, after all. It was the friendship he was losing, not the friend. Tim tried not to care too much about what this meant.

Quietly, he straightened up, standing next to them again, and nodded to Rory's explanation. "He's right. We formed a team together," he said, working on keeping his voice level. It was something he had a decent amount of practise at, at least.

Still, he couldn't quite deny the feeling. He just kept mostly straight faced about it. "We should get you to Medical. Just in case."

"No more Medical! I'm tired of flippin' Medical! I've only got nine months of time left before I either die or lose my entire life," Superboy said irately. "I'm not wasting all seven months of that in the stupid Medbay!"

Screw Medical.

"If you only had five months left to live through in a really short amount of time, would you wanna waste it in a freakin' bubble? Can't we find another way?"

Nine, seven, five... uh oh.

Edited 2011-05-15 09:02 (UTC)

Rory winced, looking down for a moment and keeping his hand on Conner's shoulder. They were friends, and now Conner could no longer remember him. It wasn't the person forgetting that was hurt the most, it was the person forgotten.

"No more Medical, but Conner...if you get sick, it's not just you at risk. It's all the clones on board the ship."

His stomach sank, and he knelt, hands shifting to rest on both of his shoulders. "Conner, deep breaths, deep breathes and look at me, you're going back too fast. You need to try to slow down." Months, months when they already had no time at all.

Tim stiffened all over, as he heard Conner counting down his own time. That was not good. He could feel the bit of panic, and he moved closer again, reaching a hand out for him, despite the previous rejection.

"Superboy-- Conner. You'll be fine," he said, hiding his uncertainty. There wasn't time and they hadn't even had the clock back for long. There was never enough time. "Just stay calm. We've almost solved this." Of course, he didn't really know how it was progressing. No time to check.

"It doesn't matter how calm I am. It is what it is," Superboy said, his eyes flicking the white spaces that hid Tim's eyes and then to Rory's eyes.

"I'm just outta time."

Either he was going to die tonight or forget his entire life.

"I know. But freaking out might make it happen faster, we can't be sure." He kept his hands tight on Conner's shoulder, offering as much physical reassurance as he could and meeting his gaze. "Robin is right, they've got the clock on board. You just need to hold on. Please, Conner. Please. Trust me. We will fix this."

Tim nodded to them both. "Regulating yourself will help," he said. "Just try to keep clear headed." Conner couldn't be out of time. There had to be more. They just needed more.

"We brought the clock back, the cure is being worked on right now. You just need to hold on for a while, okay?" he said, reaching out a hand, glove clasping the side of his arm gently.

He couldn't be losing him. Not completely. No memory, and then what? Conner couldn't be gone again. Not after everything. "I'm not breaking my promise."

Backwards. He was going back, losing time in Hawaii, and then time in Metropolis.

"Roxy and Dubs and Rex and Tana, I'm losing them. I'm losing--"

Three months left. Then two.

"I don't want to forget it all. Especially if I'm gonna die in a few minutes. It's not fair. I should at least be allowed to remember my life. When you die, that's all you have. That's all...you...all you..."

His gaze started to go blank as his life slipped away.

Dubbilex wasn't his guardian. Rex and Roxy's memory disappeared. Tana Moon, his first friend, the first person to really care about him, was unmet. His name was taken away. His last name, the only one he could remember that was still his. Superboy. He'd been Superman at first, a name that wasn't really his.

"I don't wanna go," he said distantly, leaning against Rory, his hands grasping at Tim's arm. As his memory slipped and shifted, he needed something solid to hold on to.

Edited 2011-05-16 07:14 (UTC)

"We'll get it back, Conner. I promise you. It will all come back when they find the cure." He kept his voice firm, letting no doubt creep into it, heart aching for the kid.

I don't want to go.

His heart lurched and his hands unconsciously tightened. Remembering the shock and horror of being shot, of knowing that he was going to die. Of leaving it all behind, Amy, the Doctor, home, family. Everything gone.

"Conner, look at me, I promise. We'll fix this." He shifted as Conner leaned, arm going back around. They had to fix this, he couldn't...Conner had been through too much already. It wasn't fair. He was just a kid.

No, no, no. He couldn't let this happen. He was not going to lose his best friend all over again. He couldn't-- but he couldn't do much, either. There was an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, a feeling that he really was going to lose him all over again, as he let Conner grab his arm, as he gripped back and moved closer, trying to offer what little physical comfort he could, in place of anything else. There was so little he could do right now.

"You're not going to go," Tim said, voice a bit rougher than usual even. "You're going to be fine." He wasn't really sure if it was reassuring Conner any more, but he had to say it aloud. "We're going to fix this." They had to. There had to be more time-- enough time to fix it.

In his mind and memory, everything changed. There was no feeling the sun on his face on his very first morning. There was no blast of telekinesis and then fresh air filling his lungs, his very first breath. In his memory, water sucked back in on itself into a column, and broken glass reformed into a glass tube.

Then his mind was filled with the memory of silence.

His face got slightly rounder, he lost muscle mass and got skinnier, shorter, scrawnier. He knew words and concepts, history, literature, science, he even knew the ending to Casablanca, but without having already lived, his life on the ship became something like a wild, fantastic dream, like another simulation programmed into his head, another movie that he only half-realized was more than a movie. The context was lost. Actually living was lost.

The programming itself was even more incomplete than it'd been when he'd broken free at age 14. He was just half a boy, programmed with just the basics, barely enough to form a basic personality yet like he'd had when he'd broken free.

But it stopped, at least. The aging stopped at about age twelve and didn't progress any farther. He wasn't going to die today, at least not physically.

When it was over, he sat there staring up at them both. His cheeks were sticky with tears, but he couldn't remember why he'd been crying. The young man known as Superboy, who had broken free from Cadmus in a fit of teenage rebellion and created himself and a life for himself out of nothing, who'd built his own soul out of nothing, who'd lived a wild, joyful, sorrowful, adventurous, amazing life and had been shaped by his experiences blipped out of existence, as those experiences disappeared.

The boy that was left, the template to recreate one of the greatest superheroes who ever lived, reached up and brushed his hand against Rory's face, a dreamy look on his own as he tried to make sense of his new world.

Human contact. It was new. Interesting.

"Are you sad? You look sad," he said. "I think."

He wasn't entirely sure what "sad" looked like for real, though associations with facial expression had been programmed in.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asked them both, "If they did, I can fix it. Just point me at the bad guy and I can beat 'em up! That's my job 'cause I'm Superman."

That's what it said in his head. He was Superman. Cadmus said he was Superman, a clone of him, their Superman. He was too young to question it now, too young to rebel.

Edited 2011-05-16 22:38 (UTC)

"Conner..." The word was choked, quiet. Naming him and claiming him, and in some small space in his head aware of it. Aware that now there was nothing left but what had been put in the child's head.

He wasn't sure if he should cry or laugh, and settled for hugging the boy - really a boy now, tiny and round cheeked and so very young and quiet - as tight as he could.

"No one hurt me. I'm sorry, Conner. I'm so sorry. I am sad, but it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, no one needs to be punished."

I am Superman.

It was a phrase cold enough to make him shudder, arms tight around the child. "It's going to be ok, Conner. I promise."

He was a little boy, and he was only what they had put in his head. But he was alive, and as long as he was alive, as long as there was still a boy, even an empty headed child who didn't remember anything, and hadn't lived anything, they could put it back. He had to believe they could put it back.

"Conner..." it came out just after Rory's, practically an echo, his voice even dropping some of the grating tone he usually carried, into his more natural tone.

It struck him that... this is what he would have ended up with. Not exactly-- there would have been no programming like that-- but... had he succeeded in his attempts, this is what he would have ended up with. Maybe it was something, maybe he still had him. But it was still painful.

"No," he managed out, voice dropping a bit again. Habit covering his tone, hiding it. "No, no one hurt either of us." But Conner... he kept holding onto him, kept close. He wanted to hug his friend. He was so thankful that he was still alive... but it really wasn't Conner any more, was it?

It was kind of easy to see how much of an idiot he'd been in the past.

"Everything's okay."

"Are you sure?" he asked, almost seeming disappointed that a chance to get some heroing done was being stymied by nothing being wrong.

Either way, having both men hug him was stifling for an adventurous 12-year-old, so he squirmed away and crawled on the couch, a hand holding his sweatpants up so they didn't fall down now that he'd gotten even skinner. They were too big for him now. He redid the tie, then reached down and snagged the blanket, tying it around his neck and making it into a cape.

"'Cause I can help a lot of ways! I'm super strong, I'm in--invulnara--inavuln--invulnable. So if there is something wrong, I can fix it. See, watch, I can fly, too!"

He scurried up to the top part of the meatcouch, balancing on it with unsteady legs that weren't used to walking, and jumped. It wasn't very high, but it'd be something of a tumble if he hit the ground, since he wasn't prepared to actually fall.

And falling was what he would do, right towards them both. He'd gone back past puberty, back beyond the point where his body had first developed the tactile telekinesis even.

No tights, no flights.

Rory let him wiggle away, just watching the child. Invulnerable, huh?

Not quite, was he? They hadn't even given him the memories of a childhood. They had just created a ready made soldier, ready to take the place of whatever they wanted him to be. His forehead furrowed, watching the boy. Reminded of other children playing Superman. How could anyone think this was right? That it was ok to do this?

He opened his mouth to say something, but Conner jumped off the back of the couch, flying towards them, though likely not in the way he meant to. "Conner-" And then he had an armful of lanky kid, arms tightening reflexively to support the weight as he staggered back a bit. "Careful, you're a lot more breakable than you think." He looked at Robin, questioning and ruffled Conner's hair. "Why can't he...?"

He should be able to, he'd walked in not even twenty minutes ago to Conner levitating like something out of some fantasy movie.

Tim hadn't watched completely idly. "Wait," he started, as the small boy climbed on to the top of the couch. That wasn't going to be good.

He moved forward, to catch him, but he, fortunately, landed on Rory, instead. He moved to help support him, though, wanting to be careful. He was worried, still. Especially since this wasn't over.

"He won't have developed his powers yet," he said, in explanation, to Rory. Even when he'd had his telekinesis his power set had been different. Now that he was back this far... He turned his head toward Conner, instead. "You might want to hold off on practising flight for a little while, okay?"

The boy wriggled away from Rory again. "But I'm supposed to be able to fly!"

Why wasn't it working?

"Maybe I just need to jump from somewhere higher!" he said, and then he climbed over the couch and made off to possibly try to go jump off a building. At any rate, it would probably be a good idea for one of the two to catch him first.

"Conner! Wait!" He caught his shoulders, holding the wiggly child in place. "Conner, your powers aren't working because you're sick. You remember, we've been treating you, correct?" It wasn't even really a lie, even though it did strain the truth a bit. "You can't fly, and trying will get you hurt. Do you understand? For the moment, you're just a normal little boy. And jumping from something higher will get you badly hurt."

This was going to be difficult. He tossed a look at Robin, seeking support. They had to make it stick or Conner would end up hurt.

Tim moved quickly to help stop Conner from going too far. He ducked in front of him to block his path, kneeling down in front of him, while Rory held onto his shoulders. "He's right," he said, nodding gravely. "You can't do it right now. You just have to hold off, okay?" he hesitated, glancing up at Rory, before he spoke again.

"How about I teach you some tricks to do while you wait?" he asked, instead. It'd worked on Chris, so maybe the same thing could help Conner. "Did you ever learn about acrobatics?"

"I know what they are."

He gave them both a petulant look.

"And I know they're not as cool as flying. But if that's all I can do, then I guess want to learn tricks. I have to be ready for when I'm not sick, 'cause I have to start being a hero again. Maybe knowing that will help."

It was a lot of responsibility for a twelve-year-old to be taking on, being the world's greatest hero, but apparently, he thought that responsibility was his.

"How come you're both so much taller than me, anyway?"

He looked down at himself.

"Aren't I supposed to be big? I can't be a tiny Superman! All the villains will laugh at me."

Rory swallowed a laugh, unable to keep the smile from his face. It was sweet, and he approved. Giving Conner some real experiences in childhood could only benefit him when they fixed this. It was a good plan.

"It may not be as cool as flying, but it's still pretty impressive. And good to know if you ever lose the ability to fly again, isn't it?"

It was even harder not to laugh at Conner's obvious offense at his size. "You're a little boy, not quite ready to be Superman yet, yeah?" He squeezed his shoulder. "Right now you just need to worry about being Conner. You can worry about villains when you're a little bigger. Sound fair? Even Superman had to wait to grow up."

"Maybe they're not as cool," Tim offered as consolation, "But they're not so bad, I think."

Tim was starting to look on the bright side, though. Conner was alive, after all, and it looked like his slip backwards had stalled. And a bit of him was still in there. Maybe for now he was alone, but he could still hold onto hope.

He glanced up at Rory and nodded in agreement. "Right. Being smaller isn't so bad. But once you're bigger, then you can send all the bad guys running." He stuck a hand out to Conner. "So for now I'll just have to teach you some vaults and jumps. Deal?"

This was certainly a surreal situation.

There was a loud, extremely over-exaggerated sigh.

"Okay. But soon as I get big enough and get my powers back, I'm sendin' all the bad guys packin'."

Conner grabbed onto to Tim's hand and onto to one of Rory's and proceeding to use both men as something of a human swing, dangling from them. He was a tetch too big for it, but apparently the Kryptonian big guy genes weren't going to kick in until later. He was quite scrawny for now.

"Can we get somethin' to eat first. I'm hungry. I could eat a whole house. Made of chocolate. A chocolate house."

"As soon as you get big, I'm sure they'll all be running to hide." He smiled, unable to deal properly with the emotional whiplash. He'd have to handle it later, right now there was a kid and Conner needed them to be the adults.

He was a little big for it, but Rory could put up with a bit of muscle strain. It was such a childlike action that he couldn't even think about discouraging it, keeping his hand wrapped tight around Conner's. "Well, I don't know about a house of chocolate. I haven't seen one of those, but we can get something to eat. Maybe even a candy bar." They had gotten food on the planet, after all. The Doctor had even brought back that strange, green chocolate castle.

Late Night Train to Maudlin City, Now Boarding [open]

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